Waiting For The Fall
by AmeliaSkellig
Summary: She's a ghost. A Shadow. Cara Fox should have simply let herself fade away during the chaos surrounding the fall of SHIELD, but chooses to track down the Winter Soldier. Instead of the killer, she finds a lost and broken man, and sets out to protect him against those who wish to turn him back into the weapon he once was. However, she finds she might be just as lost as he is.
1. New Mission

_**A Note From The Author:**_

_One for sorrow,_

_Two for joy,_

_Three for a girl,_

_Four for a boy,_

_Five for silver,_

_Six for gold,_

_Seven for a secret, never to be told._

_Eight for a wish._

_Nine for a kiss._

_Ten for a little bird you must not miss._

_-Nursery Rhyme_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>__I do not own Marvel or any of it's characters and place. I only own a few original characters and concepts. _

Cara didn't even see him.

It was crowded, the Captain America exhibit. People swarmed to learn about the man, from his past and present, and about those who fought and lived with him.

She ran straight into him. His hands gripped her arms, just under the shoulder, keeping her steady while at the same time looking extremely threatening. Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet his. Cara stared at the man that she had run into, who now held her arms in a death grip. His dark blue eyes bore into hers, although they seemed distant, and they were of course, now glaring at her.

"Watch where you're going," he snapped, his voice sounding like it hadn't been used in a long time.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I wasn't paying attention."

"It's okay," he said quietly. He seemed to try and release her, but his left arm simply tightened. His hand was covered in glove. He frowned at it. "Damnit," he muttered, his other hand flying to his wrist. After a moment of struggling with it, he let her go, stumbling backwards. Looking at the ground, he turned to walk away, weaving through the crowds and cradling his arm like he was hurt.

"What's your name?" She asked, following him. He glanced back down at her, pausing for a second.

"I… I- My name is… Bucky."

"Cara."

"Nice to meet you," he said, not looking at her. He kept walking.

"How do you like the exhibit?" She said, trying to make small talk.

"It's okay," he said, staring at a distant place on the wall. "Some of it's inaccurate."

"Really?"

He nodded, still not looking at her. His eyes were distant.

"Maybe I'll see you around, yeah?" Her fingers brushed his arm. He flinched slightly.

"Yeah." He still didn't look at her. He kept walking. Cara smiled as she stopped and turned around, facing the Bucky Barnes exhibit. She smirked as she looked down at her phone, a small green dot moving away from her current position. Putting it back in her pocket, she removed the light and translucent glove on her left off, the extra trackers still on it. Placing it into her bag, she looked at the black and white picture of Bucky in front of her, and crossed her arms.

_Phase 1, complete, _she thought to herself, sighing as she studied his features. _Now then, for a ghost story, you weren't that hard to find, now were you?_

* * *

><p><strong>Earlier that day<strong>

"I can take care of myself," Cara said, speaking into her phone. She sat in her hotel room, feet tucked under her as she lay curled in the chair by the window, watching the people move in the streets below.

"Not this time you can't," the cool voice said.

"I've been doing this, this shouldn't be any different."

"You understand what's going to happen-"

"Because you won't tell me."

"Listen," she heard Natasha snap. Her fellow spy sound as anxious as she'd ever heard. "This is it. There's no more SHIELD after today. And all your secrets are going to be dumped everywhere. Everyone will know who you are. They will know what you are. The shit they have on you, you'll be dead by next week, if you do not go under now."

Cara sighed, untangling her legs and leaning forward. "What are you doing, Natasha? What's happening?"

"I can't tell you."

"Is Steve there?"

"Yes."

"Clint?"

"No."

"Is that why you're so grumpy?"

"I'm not grumpy!" Natasha, in a very grumpy way. "Look, I'm just about done. Today, I've been shot-"

"Wait, you've been shot?!"

"Yes, by Steve Roger's own best friend, who is actually the Winter Soldier, and-"

"What?"

"Yes, James Barnes is the Winter Soldier, stop interrupting," Natasha said. "And now I have to dismantle what has been keeping both our secrets, and I'm trying to protect you, and you are sassing me! And that isn't even taking into account the rest of my week!"

"Relax, Natasha," she said, standing up and stretching. "I'll go into hiding. Not even you'll be able to find me."

"Yeah, right. Don't forget who you are talking to."

"Fine, you'd be able to find me. No one else."

"Good."

"I'll see you soon, yeah?"

There was a pause on the other end. "Yeah. Soon. Take care of yourself, Cara. And don't go anywhere near anything SHIELD related today." Before she could say another word, Natasha hung up.

Cara sighed, wrapping her arms around herself as she looked out the window. People in suits pushed passed each other, and tourists took pictures. Washington D.C.

She had had a job here. A quick information steal for SHIELD. It was easy, and she had transferred it this morning. They had given her a week off, and she had spent the past day lazing around in her room, reading by the window.

When Natasha had called, she had been surprised. Nat usually never called while she was working, and she had been doing that a lot lately. SHIELD had assigned her to work with the famed Steve Rogers, and that was eating up all her time.

Turning away, she began to pack up, hand hovering over the handgun in the bottom of her bag, loaded and ready to go at a moments notice. She sighed, taking it out and replacing it with a shirt. She got dressed as well, pulling on simple clothes that would not attract any extra attention. Carefully, she wiped down every surface, making sure not to leave behind a trace. The last thing she did was slide gun into the holster, pulling on her jacket over it, her bright red hair standing out in sharp contrast to the black material.

Picking up her bag, she let her eyes dart around her, making sure she didn't miss anything. It was a nice room, white blankets and tan walls, a overlooking the street, completely secured and paid for by SHIELD.

What was she going to do when they were gone?

She didn't know anything else. She could freelance, she supposed, or get a job at another agency, but she had been with SHIELD practically her entire life.

This was it.

She fought down a twinge of terror. She'd be okay. She could take care of herself. Sighing quietly, she left the room, walking down the hallway. It was empty, her footsteps muffled by the carpet. She smiled politely as she checked out, leaving the hotel like any other guest. They didn't notice gun under her jacket, or the fight in her stance, or the scar on her collarbone, just visible under her shirt.

She got in her car, sleek and black, unidentifiable in a crowd, tossing her bag into the back seat. As she started the engine, she wondered what she was going to do. She needed to get get her fake documents, but where she kept them was by the Triskelion. Where Natasha had told her not to near.

Well. She needed those papers. So, she would have to go to the eye of the storm, and hope all was calm.

* * *

><p>She smiled grimly as she gathered the papers into her arms, putting them into her bag. The storage unit was small, filled with things that no one would think twice of if they came in. A desk, a few cardboard boxes, even a rocking horse. And in the corner was a box with a picture of a tea set on it. That where she kept her passports, social security numbers, untraceable money. Another identity. Although, her first name was her middle name. Allison Cara Fox. Her new name. Natasha would have disapproved. It was too similar, too unsafe. She should simply rebuild herself, as she had been taught. But this, this was for a long term. She might never be Cara Calista Fletcher again. She wanted to keep that little bit of herself, even if it went against everything Nat had taught her.<p>

It was her fellow spy who had told her to make this second identity. To tell no one, not even her, about it, as everyone could be compromised, and she had to be ready to run at a moments notice.

And she would be running.

She shut her eyes, ignoring the wave of panic bubbling in her chest.

Once she found something to do, a new mission, maybe she could ignore her pounding heart.

An explosion shook her from her thoughts.

Running outside, she saw three ships outside the Triskelion. And one was falling. Her breath caught. That's what Natasha and Steve were doing.

She walked forward only knowing that she had to help.

She watched the third ship fall, from a place on the edge of the water, and her trained eyes had watched a man fall from it. She knew who it was. And it made her heart stop. She had no way to reach him. Captain America would drown.

She could jump in, but the chances of ever finding him in the murky water was miniscule. He was going to die.

Just as she had given up all hope, she saw him. A few feet away, was a man, hair long and brown, hanging in his face. His wearing black gear, arm a silver color. A metal arm. And he was dragging the body of Steve Rogers behind him.

She knew who he was. She had read the files. It was the Winter Soldier. And apparently, it was also Steve's best friend.

He wouldn't see her, if she didn't move.

He clutched his middle, stumbling like he was in pain. He glanced around, as he dropped the other man to the ground. And then he walked away. In the opposite direction as her. As he disappeared, she ran forward, dropping to Steve's side, and checking his pulse. She release a sigh of relief as she felt a steady, if weak beat under her fingers.

He had saved him.

He didn't have to. He could have let him die. But he didn't.

There was still a good man in there. And he was alone, in a very unforgiving world. People would be hunting him. And she knew what that was like.

Cara stood up, dialing 911, as she thought about it.

She had a new mission.

She was going to protect the Winter Soldier.

**A/N: **Instead of doing Stats homework, I'm posting this. I'm a little nervous, as this is my first time publishing a story based around an OC (on here). I hope you like it, and thank you for reading!


	2. The World Behold

Her eyes scanned the information, as it came, running multiple programs to track the movements of the man. Bucky. That was his name. Bucky.

It had been almost three weeks since SHIELD had fallen, only a few days since she had seen him in the Captain America exhibit. He hadn't made a move, and neither had she. The most he had down was switch locations.

She presently sat in a cafe, the late daylight filtering in, turning everything a pale gold color. It was nearly empty. Everyone was pretty shaken up by the revelation of HYDRA, preferring the safety of their homes to the outdoors.

Cara leaned back, running a hand through her hair, and staring at her laptop. He was going to New York. Of course he was. He needed to find himself, and where else to go but to the beginning. She leaned back, wondering how she was going to get there before him, to have time to set up a cover. He'd be on foot, probably. He had nothing.

She had an apartment there, near Stark Tower. She had it set up as a safe house, completely off the grid. SHIELD didn't even know about it, so it wouldn't be with the secrets spilled all over the Internet. She could call in a few favors, have it furnished and livable.

Cara smiled slightly, pulling her keys to her out of her pocket and flipping them in her hand. Looks like she was going on a little road trip.

* * *

><p>Bucky walked along the side of the road, keeping his head down. What little things he had were stuffed into a backpack on his shoulder, including his old uniform. Even though it was late in the afternoon, it was dark, storm clouds gathering overhead. A few raindrops, spatter down on him, and he wrapped his arms around his middle, shivering despite himself.<p>

A car's headlights shone behind him, slowing down. He glanced away as the window rolled down.

"Do you need a ride?" A feminine voice said. She sounded familiar. Looking in, he saw the woman from the Smithsonian, her curly red hair falling into her green eyes. She blinked in recognition. "I know you... You were at the exhibit."

He nodded.

"Do you need a ride?"

"I'm fine," he said.

"No, you're not. It's raining, and these roads are dangerous."

"You shouldn't be picking up strange men, then."

"I can take care of myself," she said, leaning over and opening the door. "Now, please get in."

"No."

"I will follow you."

"I don't care."

"Look, just until it stops raining. Please."

He sighed. It was wet, and cold. She didn't seem too bad. If she worked for anyone, he could take her.

Sliding into the car, he put his bag at his feet, pushing himself as far against the wall as he could. She watched him carefully, and began to drive again.

"Bucky, right?" She said. He nodded.

"You're Cara." She returned the nod, keeping her eyes on the road. She was alert, though, body language tense. If he was the type of person to try something, he had no doubt she had a plan.

"Where are you going?"

"New York."

"Oh. Good. Same place." He glanced back at her. Her hands were wrapped loosely around the steering wheel, fingers tapping quietly. The silence that fell around them was not awkward, but not exactly comfortable either.

The radio quiet music, and he caught a few of the lyrics.

_Love, carry me in, carry me in, held down by my words and the weight of my sins._

_Fear, fear of myself, fear of myself, all these books on the shelf, yeah they're dusty again._

He turned to the window. The rain came down harder, through the dark green trees lining the side of the road. The sky nearly black. He was sure there was a memory like this. A memory where the rain poured whilea voice spoke quietly, the words caught in static. A voice that was so familiar. A voice that had called out to him on the bridge. A voice who had said the words that had triggered the flashing memories that sometimes in his head, that had triggered the remembrance of fragments of a life he didn't want to know. He didn't want to know what he lost, or what he had done.

_Now, I see it's me, my splintered eye, climbing up the wall, waiting for the fall._

_Tonight, I think I'll lose my mind, carry me away, carry me away._

_I sit and watch the flowers grow, some day they'll die._

_I sit and watch the world behold, carry me away, carry me away._

"You okay?" Cara said suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts. He glanced sharply over at her. She frowned. "Your eyes got all distant." She lifted her hand off the steering wheel, waving it for emphasis.

Bucky nodded, turning out the window again. The rain had gotten worse. He could barely see out the window. Cara was leaning forward, squinting through the rain.

He saw it at the same time she did. A figure stood in the center of the road.

"Shit!" Cara said, swerving. She desperately tried to straighten it. Unfortunately, the ground was just uneven enough to make them flip, despite her best efforts. It took less than a few seconds for Bucky to collect himself. This was not his first car crash. They landed on the driver side, so Bucky was above her. He moved so that when he undid his seatbelt he wouldn't fall on her, and opened the door, letting in the torrent of rainwater. He heard Cara coughing. Glancing down, he saw her, struggling to sit up and not cut her hands on the glass.

"You okay?" He called down to her. She groaned in response. He sighed, grabbing her upper arm, and pulling her out after him. As he put her down next to him, he looked up at the road, seeing the same figure staring down at them, in a fighting stance.

Bucky felt his fist tighten, preparing for whatever was going to happen next. Cara was cradling her arm, hair matted from the rain. She was shaking slightly, and would obviously be no use. She was glaring upwards, in the same direction as him, not at all afraid.

He turned back, as a burst of lightning lit up the man's face. His eyes were feral, mouth twisted into a snarling smile. As the light faded, the man lept down, hand extended like a claw. Bucky lifted his arm, at the same time pushing Cara away. The man's nails collided on his arm, scratching the metal with a series of sparks, and a sickeningly high pitched sound. The man's other hand lashed out, catching his shoulder. He could feel the nails tear a gash, and kicked him hard in the chest. Bucky wasted no time pulling a knife from his pocket and walking forward. The man grinned.

"Barnes," he said, sneering. "I heard you were messed up by HYDRA. Pity."

Bucky hesitated. "How do you know who I am?"

"What? Don't remember me?" He lunged forward, narrowly missing Bucky's face, as he punched him in stomach. Bucky grunted, flipping the knife in his hand, and slamming down into the man's back. The other man stumbled back, towards where he had knocked Cara, hand flying towards the embedded knife. Instead of falling the ground, he grinned, and yanked it out, hurling it to the ground at his feet. Glancing down at the fallen woman, he yanked her up, putting his claws at her neck. He dug in his fingernails enough to make it bleed, the blood mixing with the rainwater, and running down onto her shirt.

"You made quite a lot of noise, Barnes," he said. "Caught a lot of people's attention. Now, if you don't want to see me tear out her throat, you'll come with me."

Cara gripped his hand, trying in vain to pull it off. Her green eyes met his. Her gaze was steady, unwavering. Quietly, she let her hand drop to her side, pulling out a knife of her own, and quickly slashing at his arm, nearly severing it at the wrist. The man howled, pulling sharply back, releasing her. It gave Bucky enough time to run forward, grabbing her hand and pulling her into the road. Her injured arm was still tucked up to her chest.

After a few minutes, when there was no sign of them being followed, he slowed.

"Who was he?" Cara said, trying to catch her breath. "He seemed to know you."

"I've never seen him before in my life."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes!"

She nodded. He looked at her. She must've been freezing. Her jacket had been left in the car, her shirt soaked with blood and water. Her wet hair stuck to her face and arms, a dark red color. He hadn't noticed it before, but there was a scar on her chest, just under her collarbone. It looked like it came from a knife, or something like it. Glass or debris would have left a more jagged line. Her hand was still in his. He released it quickly, stepping away from her. She began to walk forward, and her arm was probably sprained or broken from how she held it against her chest.

"Let me see," he said, surprising himself. She paused, looking back.

"What?"

"Your arm."

"Oh," she said. She extended it tentatively. He roughly took it, trying to ignore how she winced when he did. He softened his touch slightly. He wasn't used to caring for other people's injuries. Hell, he wasn't used to caring for to caring for his own. Usually, a specialised team of doctors did that for him. It didn't look broken, at least.

"You'll be fine."

He pushed passed her, beginning the walk down the road. She followed him, silently.

After a few minutes, he turned back to her.

"Where did you get that knife?" he asked her. The way she had handled it. Like a professional. Somehow she had managed to slash it to give them enough time to get away, nearly taking off his hand. And she wasn't panicking. There was something about her. Something that made him sure she was not exactly who she said she was.

"I told you I can take care of myself," she said. She smiled slightly. "Do you really think I would pick up a hitchhiker and not be armed?"

"I wasn't hitch hiking," he mumbled. She rolled her eyes, walking beside him. While there was still a decent amount of space between them, he could feel her beginning to shiver violently. He sighed again, pulling off his coat, complete with the bloody gash in the upper arm. He placed it on her shoulders, not meeting her eyes. He didn't need it really. He had a higher tolerance for the cold. She blinked up at him.

"You didn't need to do that."

"Don't waste it," he said. She pulled it tighter around her shoulders.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He nodded, looking forward. Anywhere but at her.

They continued down the nearly abandoned road in silence.

**A/N: **I hate writing fight scenes. Just putting that out there.

Also, first time we're seeing something from Bucky's perspective. Hope I captured him well... Which is hard when you have nothing to go on other than like three lines after he's literally had himself rewritten.

I wouldn't expect another update this soon after one for a while... I just get so excited when I first start posting stories.

A note on the bad guy in this chapter... In this story, all the Marvel movies (MCU, X Men, Spiderman, etc) take place in the same universe. And in this story, both Wolverine and Sabretooth, back when they were "friends", occasionally joined up with the Howling Commandos for missions... Make of that as you will.

The song here is _Carry Me In _by Cage the Elephant, and is one of the b-sides, so it would never be heard on the radio. I'm not sure why I included it, other than the lyrics work beautifully for the story. It's where I got the title.

This was a long author's note, I'm truly sorry. Thank you for reading and I hope to see you all next time.


	3. His First Choice

It wasn't long before it stopped raining, ending as suddenly as it began. Dark gray clouds still crowded in the sky. They were both still soaking. A car approached behind them, slowing the way Cara had.

"Was that your car back there?" The man driving asked.

"Yes," Cara said.

"We couldn't stay," Bucky said. He didn't He didn't want this man to know they had been attacked. Cara looked at him, and he shook his head.

"Do you two need a ride?" He asked. Cara nodded. Bucky frowned.

"Better than out here," she said, too quietly for the other man to hear, stepping closer to the car.

"I'll have to ask you two to ride in the back," he said. "You understand."

"Of course." She slipped in. Bucky thought for a moment. He didn't have to go. He didn't trust this man not to be working for someone. He'd get in another fight, and he could get hurt. He would win, he had doubts about that, but it would make running and hiding a lot harder.

Cara looked at him expectantly from the car.

If this man was looking for him, he would not hesitate to use an innocent woman to manipulate him. Hell, she had already gotten hurt, just because she had stopped to give him a ride, and been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Cara was, unfortunately, very much tangled up in his life right. She'd be in danger, and he owed it to her until she got to where she was going to keep her alive, and away from people like... Well, from people like him.

He slid in next to her. There were boxes in the far seat, so Cara was in the middle, and he was pressed rather close to her. She looked at him.

"So, where are you two headed?"

"New York."

"That's ways away."

"If you could get us to someplace where I can call for a friend, that be great."

"Sure thing."

Cara smiled gratefully. They sped off. He tried not to notice how she sat, trying not to touch him, still holding her arm at an awkward angle. He tried not to notice how she was still shivering, even wrapped in his large coat. He tried not to notice that even soaking wet, hair and makeup messed up, that she was rather attractive.

He shook his head. He couldn't get distracted. He had make sure they both got out of this alive. He kept an eye on the driver, and around the car. Cara finally gave in, brushing against him. It was against the arm HYDRA had given him.

As soon as he thought the name, suddenly he was back, being suited up, for his last mission.

Kill Captain America.

He had remembered them telling him. Only knowing that to be true. Only knowing that.

He didn't remember feeling afraid.

He didn't remember feeling anything.

He had felt numb, cold, dead.

He really was the Winter Soldier.

Cara placed a hand on his arm, the first contact she had willingly made with him. He flinched at her touch.

"You're doing it again," she said quietly. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

She didn't move her hand, shaking her head. "You're a strange one, Bucky."

"You are have no idea," he said. She kept her hand where it was.

They fell silent for a few minutes, no one speaking. The longer they went, the more Cara seemed to grow comfortable around him, leaning into him slightly. He knew why. She was afraid, even if she didn't show it. She had every right to be. He'd get her out of this, and then she could go back to living her safe, boring, old life and forget she'd ever met him.

But she never could. there would always be the possibility that someone would remember the woman who helped him, and that they would use her, hurt her, kill her. She didn't know how afraid she should be. She shouldn't have helped him. She wouldn't have, if she knew who he was, what he had done, and who would come after him.

She didn't know who he was, and he wanted to keep it that way. He wanted to keep the horror out of her eyes, the fear. She shifted slightly next to him. She wasn't shivering as much, at least.

"Are you sure _you're _okay?" He asked her suddenly. He didn't know why. She looked up at him, seemingly shaken from her own thoughts.

"I'm fine," she said.

"Your neck is scratched, and your arm..."

"I'm _fine_, Bucky."

He nodded, bringing his attention back to the man in front of him. He couldn't quite tell how old he was, his light hair pushed back, and his eyes lined in dark shadows. He looked like he hadn't slept for days. Bucky was confident that if it came down to a fight, he could win. He forced himself to relax slightly.

After about thirty minutes, they reached a ancient gas station, which had a payphone out front. Everything was cracked and covered in dust, dirty and unused. The man had given them some money, and left. Cara slipped inside to use the phone, while Bucky waited out front, arms crossed. He was fairly confident that no one here meant them any harm, although the young man at the counter was giving Cara a leering look. He glared at him, as Cara stepped out.

"My friend is coming by to pick us up. She's a little... Eccentric, but she's dependable."

He nodded. "Thank you."

"Where are you going after this?"

He hesitated before answering. "I don't really know," he admitted.

"Well, you can stay with me," she said. "Until you can find your own place."

He blinked in surprise. "Why are you being so kind? You have no reason to trust me."

"But I do," she said. For a brief moment, her face was open, and he could see grief, and misery, and worst of all, empathy. She understood something about him. She understood him. Then, he blinked, and it was gone, and her face was free from any and all emotions again. "For some reason I cannot fathom, I trust you, and I think that you need help."

He shrugged. "I guess I do."

"I have an extra room. You're welcome to use it for as long as you need, as long as you help me in upkeep."

"Thank you," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

And it was then he knew. They would never stop hunting him. And because Cara had helped him, they would never stop hunting her. If he didn't stay with her, she would be lost.

He had a new mission, and it was not an assignment, but his choice. His first choice in a very long time.

He was going to protect Cara Fox.

**A/N: **Avoiding Statistics is only reason I ever write anything, I swear. Another early update. Really. I wouldn't get used to it. This was originally part of the other one, but weighed it down a little, so I split it up. Thank you for reading, though, and I hope you like it!


	4. And That Was That

Together, they sat, backs against the wall, waiting for their ride.

It would take a while, and they sat in mostly silence. Cara didn't ask many questions, and for that he grateful. He didn't ask any either. The silence was not uncomfortable, and after a long while of not saying anything, Cara turned to him.

"Why are you going to New York, if you have no where to stay?"

He thought about his answer carefully. "I guess I just need to figure some things out."

"Like what?"

"Like who I am."

"Ah. So, like a path to self discovery?"

"You could say that."

"Well. I guess I need do the same. Maybe we'll find ourselves together." He stared at her. She smiled slightly, before glancing onto the street. "Oh. Here's our ride."

Cara's friend came barreling down the road, their sleek red car a model Bucky didn't recognize. They, whoever they were, slowed to a stop, jumping out.

It was a young woman, her light hair cut short, save for a few braids here and there. Her light blue eyes were very pale, like ice. She wore a black leather jacket, and tight black jeans, and black lace up boots, the only color on her was a dark blue shirt, and gold necklace around her throat. He could see black tattoos just under the collar, and under her sleeves. When he looked even closer, he saw that one arm was badly burnt, her left one. She ran over, grabbing Cara's arms. Cara winced, and she pulled back sharply.

"Cara! What the hell happened? I'll I get is cryptic call saying you were in a accident, and need help! Jesus! I thought you were dead or something."

"Hey, Sybil."

"Are you hurt? What's wrong with your arm? Where's your car? Who's he?" Sybil spoke very fast, the last question a nod in his direction.

"Right. This is my friend, Bucky. He's going to live with me."

Sybil stared at him, taking in his obviously ragged appearance. Her eyes almost seemed to dissect him, taking apart every aspect, every secret. He shifted uncomfortably.

"Okay," she said, shrugging. "Just as long as you aren't a murderer, or anything."

Whoops, he thought drily.

She turned back to Cara. "Are you hurt? Your shirt is covered in blood."

"I screwed up my arm. The blood is just from a scratch," she glanced at Bucky as she said this, and he shrugged. "Some guy attacked us on the road."

"What?!"

"Yeah. Just a crazy."

"Hey now. I'm a crazy... You're not being followed or anything, right?"

"The rain took care of that," Bucky said, without humor. Sybil grinned.

"Well, we have nothing to worry about then."

"Get in, losers," she said. Cara rolled her eyes.

"You've been marathoning early 2000's movies again."

"Hell yeah," Sybil said, moving back to the driver's seat. "Last week was nineties. Week before eighties."

"Great."

"I know right?" Sybil sounded extremely pleased with herself. "We need to go shopping. You need new clothes. You both look awful. No offense. And I so do not want to go hunt through a car wreck for all your probably ruined clothes."

"Can you just get us home?" Cara sounded mildly exhausted.

"Fine. Shopping later."

"Good," she said. Bucky looked at the car again. He'd have to sit in back. Cara glanced at him.

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

"We're still a few hours out."

"I know."

She smiled a ghost of a smile, and slid into the passenger side.

He got in behind her, turning out the window, and he overheard their conversation.

"Soooo, how did you two meet?

"At the Smithsonian."

"Are you a history nerd too?"

Cara looked back at him. He shrugged.

"I guess," he said.

She smirked. Sybil began to to talk quickly to Cara about a bunch of people he had never heard of, an he allowed himself to disappear within his mind, which, as it turned out, probably wasn't the best idea.

He was suddenly back in another time, watching a man in another building, through the scope of a gun.

He didn't remember his face.

He didn't know him. He didn't know who he was. He didn't know why he had to die. He just knew that had to kill him.

It was raining.

He was tired.

He was cold.

His hair hung in damp strands in his face. It wasn't as long then, but it still got in the way.

He heard music.

Gentle, swaying music, coming from the party in the room below the man.

He had need to get away.

He had needed to breath.

And it was his undoing.

His finger tightened in the trigger, but there was a woman.

Her back was to him, and she was wrapping her arms around the man, hugging him, her long black hair loose, and dress white. It was a contrast. Black and white.

She wasn't supposed to be there.

And he pulled the trigger anyways.

The glass shattered.

The sound almost matched the music below.

They both fell to the ground. There was no black and white. Just red. Deep, running red.

He knew they were dead.

He knew they were dead because he was good at what he did, and they never survived.

And he didn't care.

He didn't care, until he was remembering it, now, in Sybil's car.

He killed them.

That woman wasn't supposed to die.

He killed her in cold blood.

He ended her life. He ended both their lives.

His breath began coming in sharp, quick succession. Every muscle was tense, hands were balled into fists.

He heard Cara's voice, speaking gently, quietly, in front of him.

It was a long time ago.

_He felt the cold wind on his face._

He couldn't lose control.

_He heard the glass shatter._

Not here.

_He saw them falling to the ground._

Later.

_He knew they were dead._

And then there was her voice.

He felt himself practically latch onto it, letting it drag him out of his memories.

He snapped out of it, heading back, suddenly aware of the conversation in front of him, forcing his fingers to uncurl.

"-With everything that's happening, I don't think I can work for him."

"So, we won't be working buddies?"

"It's co-workers, Sybil. And no, probably not."

"Aw. I was looking forward to it."

"I just... Need to get away."

Sybil glanced at her. "Why aren't you freaking out?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your car crashed. You said you were attacked. Most people would be freaking out."

"I'm not most people, Sybil."

"I know that. But you could react like a normal person for once."

"Why would I that?"

"You're insane, Cara."

Cara was silent for a moment, before she turned around suddenly, looking at him.

"You've been awfully quiet."

He opened his mouth, not sure what he was going to say. He couldn't tell her about the memory.

"Just thinking," he murmured finally.

"We're going to be there soon."

"I thought we were ways away," he said.

"We were. Hours ago. Like I said, you've been quiet for a awhile."

"Oh."

Cara stared at him, obviously dying to ask something. She shook her head, deciding against it. She turned back up front.

And that was that.

* * *

><p>Cara had told Sybil over the phone, when she knew Bucky wasn't listening, that she was going into hiding, needed help, and that under no circumstances from this point on, could Sybil discuss her relationship with Natasha, Clint, SHIELD, or the Avengers around her or anyone else. If anyone asked about her, she would deny knowing where she was.<p>

Sybil was an excellent liar.

She could even be trick Natasha occasionally, although Sybil respected the spy too much.

Sybil had understood, and when she arrived, thankfully did not question why she was traveling with a mysterious man who had a habit of falling silent for hours at a time, and wore a glove on his left hand.

She knew Sybil was smart. Smart and observant, and that she would put two and two together, and eventually realize who he was.

Luckily, she probably wouldn't find all the information on the Winter Soldier. There would be plenty of other things for her friend to a snoop on. Because that's what her darling, dear, best friend was: A snoop.

Sybil was going to be the only person who knew where she was.

Her only connection to her old life.

"So, have you decided to take that job with Stark?"

"Hmm?"

"My boss, Tony Stark offered you a job. Before SHIELD got all fucked up."

"Oh. Right."

"Are you taking it?"

Cara shook her head slowly. "No. Probably not."

"You have nothing better."

"I just don't think it's a very good idea right now. I kinda need to lay low, and working for Stark wouldn't be very... Smart."

"No, I get it. He's egotistical. Reporters _everywhere_, all the time."

Cara nodded. "I just don't think, with everything that's happening, I don't think I can work for him."

"So, we won't be working buddies?"

She felt herself roll her eyes. "It's co-workers, Sybil. And no, probably not."

"Aw... I was looking forward to it."

"I just... Need to get away."

Sybil glanced at her, and she could feel herself being solved like a puzzle. "Why aren't you freaking out?" Her friend said after a few moments.

"What do you mean?"

"Your car crashed. You said you were attacked. Most people would be freaking out."

"I'm not most people, Sybil."

"I know that. But you could react like a normal person for once."

"Why would I do that?"

Sybil laughed slightly. "You're insane, Cara."

Cara thought about it. Yeah, she guessed she was. Insane. What sane person, who would already be in hiding, would go looking for the most dangerous and notorious killer in the world? Especially when that man would be hunted as well? She turned around to the as before mentioned assassin. He looked up at her. His eyes were tired, pained. He looked like he had just thought of something bad. He probably had.

"You've been awfully quiet."

He opened his mouth slightly, obviously wondering what to tell her.

"Just thinking," he said at last. He glanced away, not meeting her gaze.

"We're going to be there soon."

He blinked in surprise.

"I thought we were ways away," he said.

"We were. Hours ago. Like I said, you've been awfully quiet for a awhile."

"Oh."

Cara stared at him. What was he remembering? She saw the signs. He had had remembered something. Something that hurt him... A lot. Was he okay?

No. She knew the answer.

He was very far from it.

It would be a long time before he was okay again.

She knew that.

She turned back to the front.

And that was that.

**A/N: **Sybil is so fun to write, I love her. She's actually the main character in another story of mine, one that hasn't been published. If you're curious (and are in the Superwhomerlock fandom... Not that all of it is important), I'll work on getting that ready for publication. She won't be playing a very big role here in the slightest, just a friend to Cara in times of need and such.

Anyways, thank you for reading, and I hope I didn't disapoint.


	5. Mind Like Glass

Bucky soon learned to never get in a car with Cara's friend ever again.

She drove recklessly, swerving into other lanes, looking away from the road for long periods of time, shrieking at the other drivers.

Cara was completely unfazed, sitting perfectly still like there was no chance of dying a violent, fiery death. Evidently, she was used to this. Bucky certainly was not.

He comforted himself with the fact that if they crashed, his enhanced genetics and his training would ensure that he'd probably live. Probably.

"WHY THE HELL ARE YOU DRIVING? HOW DID YOU PASS YOUR TEST? GO BACK TO DRIVERS ED, YOU BAG OF HORMONES, YOU LITTLE FU-"

"Sybil," Cara said. "Breath."

"Shh. It's how I cope."

"Cope with what?"

"Human stupidity."

"Sure. Right."

They were in the city, at least. A few blocks away from Cara's apartment.

"OH MY GOD, THEY ARE WALKING IN THE STREET. THE STREET, CARA,, THE STREET! IF YOU GET HIT, I AM SO NOT FEELING SORRY FOR YOU, YOU BRAIN-DEAD MORONS."

Which was a good thing. He didn't know how much longer he could last. Cara glanced back at him, shrugging sympathetically.

"THANK GOD WE'RE HERE."

You could say that again.

Cara climbed out, and he followed her. Sybil looked at them both, although she looked much critically at him.

"Need anything else?"

"Nope."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"I'll be here."

"I know."

"Right. Bye, Cara. Bucky," she added his name on like a second thought as she looked coolly at him. He nearly shivered under her gaze. Nearly. He was used to the cold.

Cara waved to her, as Sybil drove off, nearly killing a couple crossing the street, and leaving the two of them alone. Bucky glanced up at the building. It didn't look too expensive, but from what he could tell, was in a nice part of town. He wasn't really sure what was considered nice anymore.

As for the danger, it was surrounded by other tall of buildings of equal height. Depending on what floor they were on, a sniper could get a good shot at them. He'd have to make sure that everyone living in the building were safe to be around. But it seemed okay. As a temporary place to stay.

Cara was watching him. Carefully, she tilted her head, and together they walked through the front doors.

* * *

><p>Cara opened the door to the apartment, which lead to a narrow hallway. He followed, seeing that it lead into a small kitchen with a table, and what looked like a living room, complete with a couch and television. It took a sharp right into another hall, where Cara was turning. At the end was a closed door, and there was one, closer, hanging slightly ajar. Cara pushed her way into nearest one, and he followed her.<p>

"Here you are," she said, standing back. He looked at it. It was empty, save a bed pushed against the wall, a window in the corner, and desk to the side. Someone had obviously just moved out of it. One box was in the corner, and he could see the marks on the walls where pictures had hung before.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

She stepped away. "I'll be down the hall if you need anything."

He nodded, standing in the middle of the room. He felt her eyes trained on him, and looked up to meet them. Her gaze was dark, like she was trying to figure something out. As soon as she caught him looking at her, the expression was gone, replaced quickly with the carefully constructed blank calm. She gave him a small smile, before disappearing into the shadows, like a ghost.

He stood there, unsure of what to do next. He hadn't exactly thought this far. into the future. He knew his job was to keep an eye on Cara, make sure no one hurt her to get to him. That was his first mission, his first self-assigned mission. She had helped him. She didn't have to, but she did. And he would not let her pay for that mistake.

His second mission... Well, his second mission was going to be figuring out who the hell he was. He was Bucky Barnes, best friend of Steve Rogers, who grew up in Brooklyn, and joined the army, not knowing what he was getting himself into. But he was the Winter Soldier, notorious, cold-hearted assassin with a metal arm, with so much blood on his hands, he'd never be able to wash it all off. He was a ghost story. He didn't know much beyond that.

He sat down on the bed. It had been awhile since he had slept on one.

He didn't know if ever had, while he was with HYDRA.

He shut his eyes.

The name triggered a flash of pain that ranged from his fingertips in his left arm to the base of his spine. He wasn't sure if he imagined it or not.

It triggered fragments of memory that cut his mind like glass. Falling to the ground, lying there for hours or days, he wasn't sure. But he was alone. Alone with the snow falling from the sky. Until they came and dragged him away.

He stood up quickly, moving the window. To survive, he could not focus on the past. He had to do what he did best. And that was think like a killer.

* * *

><p>After changing out of bloodstained, rain-soaked clothes, she felt much better. Thank god her contacts had thought of everything. She had given them a cover story, and an address, and they had put together an apartment that looked like she had lived in it for months. There were pictures on the walls, and food in the kitchen, and even a TV with about a hundred channels.<p>

Cara knocked on his door, leaning in. He stood by the window, arms crossed. He spun around at the sound. He still hadn't taken off all his layers, his arm carefully hidden from view. God, he'd needed new clothes too. He had only had the one bag, and that had been left in the wreck.

"Do mind if I run out?" She asked. He shrugged.

"No. I'll just be here."

"I'll be back soon."

He looked at her seriously. "Be careful. If anything happens, you find me."

She blinked. "Okay."

"I mean it. If anything happens."

"What would happen?"

He shrugged again. "A lot of things."

"Fine. Okay. I'll find you."

He nodded, turning back to the window.

"Bye," she said. He didn't respond, keeping his gaze frozen on the glass. She sighed quietly, and left without another word.

* * *

><p>Cara came home, bags hanging off her good arm. Her other one would be messed up for a while, as she was pretty sure she had twisted in the crash. The memory was still a bit fuzzy, but she knew she was lucky to have not broken it. Walking into the kitchen, she was surprised to see Bucky sitting at the table. She placed one in front of him, keeping the one with her replacement documents in her hand.<p>

"What's this?" Bucky asked, looking at the bag in front him.

"I picked up some clothes for you," she said. "Just the basics. You can go out later and get more."

He took it, looking at it closely, before looking up at her. "You didn't have to do this," he said quietly.

"You lost all of it in the wreck, and I was the one who was driving, so," she said. She looked at him apologetically. "I hope nothing was important in there."

"No. Not really. And it wasn't your fault."

She glanced at her watch. "Hey, what do you want for dinner?" He stared at her. "I'd try to make something, but it's late, and I can't actually cook, so..."

"Whatever you want," he said. She rolled her eyes.

"You need to have some input," she said. "You're living here too now."

He shrugged. "Whatever you want," he repeated

"You're impossible," she sighed. "Fine. If you hate it, you don't get to complain."

"I wouldn't."

She glared at him good-naturedly. "Fine. Pizza, then," she said. He nodded, not speaking. She sighed again, taking her phone out, and placing the order. It came quickly, and they ate in silence, only to be broken when Cara had finished, looking at him as she leaned back, crossing her arms.

"You don't talk much, do you?"

"Never really was a problem before."

"We're just going to fix that, aren't we?"

He gave her the first smile she had seen, although it was small and humorless. "You can try."

"I'm going to succeed. I'll get you to talk to me."

He shook his head. "I don't have much to say."

"I think that's a lie," she said. "You have a lot to say. You just aren't used to being able to say it." She glanced at him, extending a hand and touching his arm. He flinched. "I'm gonna go to bed."

"Okay."

She stood up, walking passed him, her fingers trailing over his back as she walked away, disappearing into the hall

"Night," her voice echoed back to him.

"Night," he said in return, not moving from his seat.

* * *

><p>Cara sat on her bed, leaning against the headboard, eyes shut. While she was certainly not any Natasha, she knew how to keep herself safe. had done security checks around the perimeter. Nothing was unusual. No sign that they were being watched. No sign of any trouble.<p>

So far, they were safe.

Well, as safe as they could be. As safe as she could be. She sighed. Some part of her still wondered what she was thinking.

What had she done?

He hadn't done anything to suggest that he was a deranged assassin. But she had seen his near breakdowns. What they did, it messed him up.

He was messed up. Worse than she was, and she was the poster child for having a bad history.

She sighed, bringing her knees to her chest.

The thoughts about the Natasha, and her history, brought her back.

_It must have been, what, six years ago now? Just after a mission gone south. Very south, as Cara had had her cover blown, gotten into a fight, a bad one, had to be rescued, which cost the life of a good agent. A friend of hers._

_She stared out the window of the small office, as the door opened._

_A young woman, not much older than herself walked in. She had long red hair, cool green eyes, and an attitude that expressed that she could probably kill her without batting an eye. Oddly, they looked vaguely similar. _

_"Hello, Cara Fletcher," she said. "My name is Natasha Romanoff, and I'll be overseeing your training."_

_"Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow, huh? I heard you were with us now."_

_"I had a change of heart."_

_"So. You here to babysit me?"_

_"Train you."_

_"I don't need training."_

_"An agent died because you lack the basic skills needed in this world."_

_Cara flinched._

_"You're not a fighter," Natasha continued, ignoring her. "Your specialty is to be the smartest and look pretty. Which I'll admit, you're good at. Very good. But you're not a fighter, and I'm here to fix that."_

_Cara glared at her._

_"I'm fine. I've been surrounded by S.H.I.E.L.D. practically my entire life. I know what I'm doing."_

_"No, you've been protected your entire life. I'm here to break that comfort zone."_

_"Why?"_

_"Cause that's what they tell me to do."_

_Cara turned her glare to the ground, crossing her arms. The corner of Natasha's mouth twitched. _

_"So, are we ready to begin?"_

**A/N: **So, a little bit of a filler chapter here. But, hey, little, tiny bit of Cara back story, and bonding and stuff... I'm sorry that this was late. I was slammed with homework this week, and it nearly killed me. Most of this was written on a four hour car ride, so there's a very strong possibility of typos and mistakes. I'm sorry if there are, and I'll try to fix them later.

Also, I've been to New York twice, so I have no idea how accurate any of this is. I honestly don't know how daily life is there, I'm sorry if it's bad.

Thank you for reading, everyone, and hello to my new readers, there are a lot of you! See you all next time!


	6. Soldier, Insomniac

**A/N: **A "fun" song for this chapter is Wires by the Neighbourhood. I just heard it in a Stiles/Nogitsune video, and it immediatly reminded me of Bucky. Oh, the things you can find when you watch your favorite characters go insane.

Soon after rescuing Steve Rogers from drowning, Bucky's memories started coming back. Well, some of them, anyways. He couldn't remember anything before Zola began the experiments on him, save for a few flashes here and there that told him he was not born in that room, that he was not born repeating a stranger's name. That he had had a life before, a life that was stolen from him.

He could barely remember the rest of the war. It was a blur of gunshots, and bombs exploding, of forests, a shield, one he would later pick up, twice. Of a blonde man, who he knew to be Steve Rogers, being a hero, and saving people. There were others too, not as clear. His trip to the museum had given him names but, that was all he had. And then there was him... And he wasn't a hero. He was a shadow of what he would become.

His missions, with Hydra, were usually the sharpest, clearest. The horrible things that were done to him, and more importantly, the horrible things he did. Those were the ones that haunted him most clearly.

And then there was the fall.

There was always him falling.

That constant, mind numbing fear of the drop.

During the day, he could fake it. Being fine, being okay, keeping memories pushed as far away from his consciousness as he could.

But the moment night fell, he was falling with it.

He went to bed right after Cara did. He kept waking up, in his new bed, sure that that scream was real, or that that a ghost he had killed really was standing above him.

Before, right after he had stolen the clothes and hid in an abandoned warehouse, he had forced himself to sleep. People would be right on his trail, and he'd be no use sleep deprived. Frankly, he had been so exhausted, it had been easy those first few days.

As time went on, however, sleep became a harder thing to manage. It was when he had no control. It was when he was the most vulnerable. It was when he remembered.

Finally, after three hours of restless, war torn, bloody and painful sleep, (if you could call it that) he got up, leaving his room, to find Cara sitting up at the kitchen table, head in her arms. He sat down across from her. Her head snapped up. Her eyes were bright and red. If she hadn't been crying, she had been close, thinking of something painful.

"Bucky," she said. She checked the clock on the wall. "It's really early. Can't sleep?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Yup."

"What's your problem?" He asked, wincing slightly as he heard how it sounded.

She shrugged slightly, not taking it badly.

"Sleeping is for losers," she said, with a yawn.

"I can see that," he said. She smiled. He tried to return it, but a fragment of a memory, the image of him beating in the face of killed it. She met his gaze.

"So, since neither of us are going back to sleep," she said. "What do you want to eat?"

He shrugged. "Not this again."

"If by this, you mean eating food, then yes, we are doing this again."

He stared at her, completely silent. She sighed dramatically, leaning back in her chair, and tilting her head. It was dangerous, exposing her neck like that. If she was a target, than he would be able to slip up behind her and slit her throat before she knew what hit her. The fact she had a some trust in him would make it that much easier. And the fact that had analysed how best to kill her, simply out of habit, made him feel slightly sick. Her hair fell from around her shoulders as she stretched, the deep red standing out in the dim light. He looked away from her, at the wall, watching her sit back up in the corner of his eye.

"Fine. You get your own. It's not my job to mother you," she said. "Food's in the cabinets. Eat whatever you want. I'll be back."

She got up, leaving him alone again. He continued staring at the wall, listening to her close the door to her room, and after a few minutes, he heard the pipes creek, letting him know she was taking a shower.

He sighed, not moving. He wasn't hungry, so he'd tell her he's eaten. She had said she hadn't wanted to mother him, but he had a feeling she would, he thought with a small smirk.

He rested his head in his hand, keeping his eyes frozen on the table. His other hand, the metal one, followed along the lines on the woods. The repetitive, simple motion had a strangely calmly effect.

His heart, which he hadn't realized had been beating very fast since he had gotten up, began to slow. He breathed deeply, shutting his eyes.

How was he going to keep doing this?

Could he even?

Maybe the old Bucky could, or maybe the Winter Soldier could. But he was neither. He was nothing. He had no orders, no past, nothing but a self-assigned mission he wasn't even sure he could carry out. How could he protect someone else if he wasn't even sure what was happening in his own head?

A hand on his shoulder made him jump. He jumped, lashing out, catching their wrist. He blinked. Cara stared back at him, her expression even, if a little pained. Her hair was wet, hanging in her face. His hand tightened slightly. He couldn't feel her pulse, even though his finger were just over ... It was his metal one. Well, shit. He had forgotten to cover it up. He had no idea how to even begin explaining it to her, if she asked.

"Bucky?" She said cautiously. He nodded, releasing her, and turning back to the table. She sat down next to him. "Bucky... I don't know you very well. But you're not okay. Even I can tell that."

"Just trying to figure some things out."

"You can tell me about it."

"No. No, I really can't."

She bit her lip, and nodded. "If you ever change your mind..."

"I'll let you know."

"Promise?"

He turned so that he faced her, and she faced him. Their eyes met.

"Would you believe me if I said yes?" He asked.

She sighed. "I don't know. I honestly don't. But I can hope."

He dropped his gaze, and it landed on her wrist. There was a red imprint from where he had grabbed. It was already much more swollen than her other one.

"That was your hurt arm," he said suddenly. His eyes widened as he realized why she had been in pain when he had grabbed her out of pure instinct. "The one you sprained in the crash."

She opened her mouth to speak, but he was already at the door, chair knocked to the floor. "Bucky, no, wait-"

"I'm sorry," he whispered, pausing in the door, one hand braced on the frame. She stood behind him. "I didn't mean it."

"I know you didn't-"

"Why didn't you stop me?"

"I don't-"

"I'm sorry," he repeated, cutting her off again. He could feel her gaze on his back. His hand tightened into a fist, and with that he disappeared back into his room.

**A/N: **Poor Bucky. I just want to give him a hug sometimes.

Sorry it's a bit late, but better late than never, I guess. I've been doing all sorts of fun reading on PTSD to try and portray it right, so I hope I did a good job. This was shorter than I thought it was going to be. I originally was planning to have some Cara POV, but that would have take longer to write, and didn't really fit, so I'll just put it in the next chapter. Thank you all reading, it means a ton to me. I hope you're enjoying this so far. I certainly am. See you all next time!


	7. What Spies Do Best

Cara leaned in the door of her room.

She hadn't thought this through.

Well, she had on her part. She had planned out every detail of her past, present, and future. She had a job that she would start tomorrow. A good one, at a bookstore. She had never really had had time to read for pleasure before, and she'd really like the chance to try it. She had a place to stay, she had money. _She _was fine.

No, it was the man who she recklessly decided to protect that she was worried about. Not only was she going to have to keep him away from himself. She flexed her wrist. It was discolored, bigger than the other. It wasn't broken, luckily, but it was enough to keep her out of the game for a bit. That could prove disastrous. It already bad, before she had scared him. He could have broken it. He had held it at an angle that if he hadn't realized who she was, he would have snapped it. She really need to learn if it had weakness. Natasha would have known, or Clint. What would they do? Probably make sarcastic comments about how she should think for herself, and how she go practice shooting again.

He did feel bad for what he did, that hadn't been a lie. She knew when people were lying. He hadn't wanted to hurt her. But, he had... She could only imagine what would happen if she scared him more. Like reveal that she had, at one point, work for the organization he had taken down.

She had taken in a ticking time bomb. That, in of herself didn't bother her. She had lived among time bombs her entire life. Hell, she could be considered one, hence the intense therapy sessions Fury had forced her to attend during her first ten years she spent at SHIELD. The majority of her childhood. And then there were the occasional ones here and there... Just to make sure she hadn't lost it yet. She felt like they would be pretty sure she had, indeed, "lost it", whatever it was, if they saw her now.

But Bucky... He was the main problem here. If he ever managed to figure out who she was, well, it wouldn't be pretty.

Another thing she hadn't thought of. She had to get him to trust her. Someone has to trust you to let you protect them. (Fury had had had her run protection missions before. She was good at them, although not as good as getting information.)

Most of the time, it was easy. Figure out what kind of person they needed, and become that. Figure them out, and play along. A subtle nod here, a touch on the arm there. Maybe some shared history, better with a grain of truth. With spies, it was harder. They kept their real selves so buried, she had to work to uncover them. And their pasts were often so messed up... whatever got you in the game was usually not the best. Take Clint. Take Natasha. Kinda hard to emphasize with them, and people like them, when she was supposed to be a normal civilian.

The thing was, with Bucky, the only way he was ever going to trust her (and it was going to take a while), was if he knew absolutely nothing about her. She couldn't use her usual way of doing things. There could not be any blatant similarities in their past. But she could play this game.

Allison Cara Fox was just a mysterious woman with a bit of a bad past that kept her up at night. And she could work with it.

So that was step one. Find common ground, one she could talk about. They didn't exactly have a lot to say to each other yet. He was closed off, trying to sort out his own head. She had get him to open up to her... And that meant mining every single emotion she could.

She smiled.

This was going to be interesting.

* * *

><p>Cara knocked on the door of his room. There was no answer. She really didn't expect one.<p>

"Bucky?" She said. Only silence answered her. "Bucky. Say something."

Nothing.

"Hey. I know you're upset about earlier. But that wasn't your fault. I scared you."

Nothing.

This wasn't right. She opened the window was open, curtains rustling. Running over, she looked out. There was no sign of him, anywhere. Bracing her hands on the window frame, she stared out into the street.

Great.

Along with the fact that he had who knows what on his trail, she was guessing that Hydra didn't let him out for field trips. She didn't doubt his capability to handle the modern world, but it was hard to keep yourself safe in unfamiliar circumstances.

Now, think.

Where would he be?

Where would a man who had nothing left go?

She paused.

Where would a ghost story go?

Where do ghosts belong?

* * *

><p>Bucky placed his hands on the wooden frame of the window, quickly lifting it open. Slipping through, he dropped to the fire escape, scrambling down to the street below, all the while completely silent. He stayed not quite hidden, but more... Unnoticeable, as he walked through the nearly empty streets. The sun was just beginning to rise.<p>

Being in that empty room, it felt like it was suffocating him.

He had just... Had to escape.

He wasn't sure where he was going. As he wandered through the streets. he kept his mind empty. His footsteps were silent as he walked forward, out of habit. Slowly, he stopped in front of a gate. Looking in, he saw rows of dark stones. He shook his head, backing up.

He had no idea how he had ended up here.

He had no idea if this was just some random graveyard, or if it meant something to him. To Bucky. To the Winter Soldier.

He didn't care. He had enough ghosts without intentionally unearthing more. This was not a string he wanted to pull on.

He walked quickly in the other direction, wandering back through the streets, trying to backtrack. Somewhere in his head, he had kept track of how he had gotten here. Another helpful habit. He was about halfway back when he saw her. Slipping back into shadows, he carefully watched her.

She looked lost, her red hair stood out in the early morning sun as she glanced around, obviously looking for him. She shivered, pulling her jacket tighter around her. It was cold, wasn't it? He hadn't noticed. Probably the result of being frozen so many times. He never really noticed. She kicked a rock into the street. He watched her glance up slightly, obviously lost in thought, not looking behind her as she stepped into the street, not seeing the car speed at her.

His throat tightened, and any thought of trying to keep himself hidden left his mind as he rushed forward. His metal arm wrapped around her as he pulled her back.

She spun around, her green eyes meeting his, hands catching his arms, and he felt an irrational surge of anger. Making his job harder. He glanced back into the street, wondering why the hell he thought this was ever a good idea.

* * *

><p>Cara saw him. She pretended not to, as he was practically melded into the shadows. Any untrained eye would not have spotted him. He was watching her, leaning against the wall, expressionless. She glanced around, making a show of looking for him, and crossing her arms against the cold as she walked down the street. That had provided an emotional reaction once, when he had given her his coat. Maybe, seeing her out here, suffering for him, would invoke the same response. She bowed her head, wrapping the jacket tighter around her.<p>

He didn't move.

She sighed, allowing herself to express her frustration by kicking a rock, watching as it flew into the empty road, into the dull beam of distant headlights. She pretended not to see them, as they gave her an incredibly stupid idea.

Either a very good stupid idea, or a very bad, very reckless, probably going-to-kill-her one. She took a deep breath, waiting a few more seconds, pretending to be lost in thought. As the lights became brighter, she stepped into the street, pausing as they hit her face. The tires screeched.

Suddenly, she was yanked back sharply, onto the sidewalk, a metal arm wrapped around her waist. She spun around against him, catching his arms to keep herself steady, breathing heavily as she looked at the place where she had just been standing, the car rushing by. She couldn't believe that actually worked. She took a deep breath, looking up to see Bucky glaring down at her. He held her very tightly, and she unsure if he meant to or not.

"How often do you almost die?" He said irritably. Honestly, it had to be the longest sentence he had said to her.

"I was looking for you!" She snapped. "You ran off and I was worried."

He let her go, muttering something under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Come on," he said, walking quickly forward. Cara followed him, speeding up until she was by his side. He barely acknowledged her presence.

Silence seemed to stretched on forever. Cara sighed loudly.

"What?"

"This is killing me."

"What is?"

"The silence."

"What do you want me to do about it?"

"Say something. Ask something. Don't make me be the rude one."

"Fine. Why were you awake this morning?" Bucky said, glancing down at her as they walked side by side. She looked thoughtfully ahead, carefully keeping her face neutral. In fact, she locked it down completely. He picked up on it. "You don't have to an-"

"Two years ago today was someone's funeral," she said quietly. "Someone very close to me."

He looked forward again. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she said. "It wasn't your fault. It was psychopath's fault. And now he's gone. And justice is served."

"He's dead?"

"Or some jail. Not sure."

"Aren't you curious?"

She looked up at him. "What's the point?" She said, unable to keep the apathy from her voice. "I never want to spend another moment thinking about his pathetic life. I wasted too much time already."

"Who was he? The man who killed him."

Cara sighed, wondering how much to reveal. All she had said so far had been mostly true. Mostly. Why not keep it up? As long as there were no specifics. "You know the attack last year? The one on New York?"

Bucky nodded. He had probably read about it at the museum.

"I blame the one who started it. Loki."

She didn't leave out any of her loathing for him. She hated him. She hated him for killing Coulson, and causing countless other innocent lives to be lost. She hated him for manipulating Clint, threatening Natasha. Those were her friends. And if she had been there, she could have helped. But no.

"It could have been me," she said aloud. She was just talking now. She didn't mean to tell him any of this. She wasn't even sure if he was listening anymore. "I was gone on work. If I had been there, it could have been different. I could have saved him."

She stopped, feeling her heart begin to race again. This was a mistake. Talking about this left her too open. Too vulnerable. Already, she was having trouble controlling her emotions. _Get it together, Fox. You're not going to be of any use to anyone if you end up having a breakdown_.

She shut her eyes, breathing deeply. She covered her mouth, with both hands.

_Agent Fletcher, we thought it best you know, given your relationship with the deceased-_

"Cara," Bucky said, breaking through her thoughts. She looked up at him. He stood in front of her, watching her intently, with an expression that almost bordered on concern. "You okay?"

She blinked, running her hands through her hair. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

Just like that, she was. Or at least, she could tell herself that, even if it was a lie.

He tilted his head, not looking convinced while he turned back, beginning to walk back. She joined him again, keeping her coat pulled around her. Her arm hurt. Maybe not getting sleep was a bad idea today. It had left her more open to... This.

But, despite it all, she knew that it was beneficial. She had revealed something very deep and personal, something that couldn't be replicated. Something about her that wasn't an illusion. She was one step closer to her goal of having him trust her.

Now, she just had to do what spies do best, and lie.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Sorry this took so long, I kept procrastinating, and then all of a sudden, school got really crazy, and I just didn't have time to think. I hope that this makes up for it, even if it does seem a little bit depressing right now. Hopefully, one of the next few chapters will be lighter. And I've reread/rewritten this about thirty times, and I'm still not sure it's my best.

This was pretty fun to write, as we got to see a bit more how Cara's mind works. She doesn't think like this all the time, but to her, this is a mission she has to carry out, and so she's kinda put on her spy mindset.

Sidenote, I don't hate Loki. Cara does. Just so we're clear. I know that people can get very protective over some characters. Loki's cool (Frostgiant pun there. I'm so clever)


	8. Trust

It was about seven in the morning when the two of them got back from his little early morning excursion. Cara didn't say anything else, keeping her gaze away from him, and on the floor. She seemed to shut herself down after her breakdown. He didn't blame her. He could relate, and she could keep her secrets.

Her hand was steady as she unlocked the door. The keys glinted in the dim light of the hall, as she pushed open the door, pausing to look at him.

"I'm not usually like that," she said. "Today's just a... It's just a hard day."

He didn't know what to say, opening his mouth slightly. "I understand," he said finally, settling for the most diplomatic answer, even if it was a blatant lie.

She nodded. Something flashed over her face, but he wasn't quite sure what it was, and she was already turning into the apartment.

As he followed her into the narrow hallway, her red hair loose and swinging down her back, he watched her carefully. She had a story. He was curious. He didn't know if it was the Winter Soldier who wanted answers, or James Buchanan Barnes, or a mix of both. Whatever he was now, he was curious. And yet he knew he wasn't going to get any answers. She didn't strike him as the type to give away her secrets easily. This morning had been a something he wasn't sure he was supposed to see.

She paused in the kitchen, eyeing the cabinets. She glanced down at the keys in her hand, a thoughtful expression coming over her face.

"We should go shopping," she said. He stared at her. "Don't give me that look."

"What look?"

"That one. We need to get more food. And I still need to replace some things from the wreck. And get you your own key."

"Why do I have to come?"

"I want to know more about you."

_No, you really don't_, he thought.

Instead, he said, "There's not much to know about me."

She raised her eyebrows. "You are a liar."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"There is a lot to know about you. You are a mystery."

"So are you."

"Well, then," she said. "It's decided. We're both going." She moved past him, to her room. "I'll meet you out here in an hour. Get ready."

He didn't say anything, didn't move, just stood, perfectly still in the middle of the hallway. She turned back, gesturing impatiently at his room.

"Go," she mouthed, before walking into her own room. He sighed, stalking into his room. He paused. He was going to go out into public. Maybe he should clean himself up a little. He was covered in dirt, and dried blood that he kept forgetting about. His last shower had been at a homeless shelter in DC, right before he had decided to come to New York.

He slipped back out into the hall, turning into the bathroom, giving her door a glance.

After he had cleaned himself up, he had found his coat and gloves. They weren't for her 'd seen his arm, and hadn't seemed bothered by it (which, in hindsight, did seem strange.. He'd look into later. Observing Fox while they were out would possibly provide more information). But for now, he'd wear them as not to give anyone any more clues that could identify him as the Winter Soldier, the mysterious masked man with a metal arm who had shot up DC.

He was a murderer on the run. Some people wanted him in jail, and some wanted him to become an asset for them. Just stepping out was going to be risky. But he knew risky. He had carried out operations the bravest wouldn't dare touch, not that he had much of a say in the matter. There were not many who could take him on and live to tell the tale, that he was confident about. It was a calculated risk, and he was willing to take it. The worst that would happen would be having to go on the run again. He knew that was going to happen anyways, eventually.

It was a big city, and one more face wouldn't be noticed, as long as he was careful. He looked in the mirror. It was the first time he had looked at himself, since that picture in the Smithsonian. He didn't look much like that anymore, he thought somewhat bitterly. He was a different person, and he still had no idea who that person actually was. His reached up his metal hand towards the reflection, suddenly struck by how similar this felt, to something else. But he didn't remember what. He didn't want to remember. Somethings were best left buried.

* * *

><p>A song echoed through the store, playing lightly on the speakers from the stereo. He wasn't paying attention, dragging a basket with him as he followed Cara around.<p>

_Well you can hide a lot about yourself,_

_But honey, what're you gonna do?_

_And you can sleep in a coffin,_

_But the past ain't through with you._

Cara turned back to him. "I'm getting your key, I'll be right back. You can get whatever you need. I'll meet you at the register." He nodded, keeping his gaze away from the security camera to his left. She walked off, in the direction of the hardware center, leaving him on his own. He looked around. The store was empty, not many people being up and about this early on a weekend. Something caught his eye. On a rack was a magazine, and on the cover was Steve Rogers.

_'Cause we are all a bunch of liars._

_Tell me, baby, who do you wanna be?_

_And we are all about to sell it,_

_'Cause it's tragic with a capital T._

_Let it be, Let it be, Let it be!_

The cover read, _Captain America: Heroics, or Havoc? _Bucky felt a sharp jolt of anger at the title. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a voice was screaming that all Steve had ever wanted to do was help people, that he didn't care about being a hero. Steve was the man that everyone should try to be like. He didn't know how he knew this. He just did. It had started out like a ghost of a feeling when he had saved him, and had grown stronger with every day.

_'Cause we all wanna party when the funeral ends._

_And we all get together when we bury our friends._

_It's been eight bitter years since I've been seeing your face._

_And you're walking away, and I will die in this place._

It was his fault Rogers was getting this. He had caused the havoc, and Steve was getting the blame. The magazine in his hand crumpled as he tightened his grip.

"Bucky," Cara said. He turned sharply to see her standing by his side. She looked at the magazine in his gloved hand. Carefully, she reached over, putting her hand on top of his, loosening his fingers. He let her do it. As she put it back on the shelf. Turning back to him, she placed a small metallic object in his hand. A key. She looked up at him, keeping her hands around his. "Are you ready to go?"

He nodded mutely.

She let him go, and some part of him missed the feeling of her holding him. It had made him feel less alone. She grabbed the basket, pushing it to the register. He followed her. As Cara unloaded the cart, he saw Rogers' face staring back at him again, with the same caption. He reached forward suddenly, turning the magazine around, unable to take the accusing stare, or the stupid words any longer. Cara gave him a strange look.

"You're being weird," Cara said, as she finished taking items out, and placing them in the checkout, paying for it easily.

"You're being weird," he grumbled. He couldn't resist the juvenile response, as he glared at her.

The cashier looked between them. "You two make such a cute couple," she said.

Cara looked up in surprise, as Bucky glanced away uncomfortably.

"Oh, no, we're not together," she said, gesturing between them. She looked at him. "We're just... Friends?"

"Yeah, friends," he said quickly. The cashier gave him a sympathetic look. He shot Cara a confused one. Why the sympathy? Cara tilted her head towards the door, indicating she'd explain it later.

"My mistake," the cashier said, handing him their receipt. He handed it to Cara, who stuck it in one of their two shopping bags. He took it from her. It would be more efficient for him to carry it. She smiled at him, nodding in thanks. "Have a nice day!"

"You too," Cara said pleasantly, walking quickly away. As he followed, he could feel the woman's eyes on them, like she didn't quite belive him.

"Why did she give me that look?" Bucky said, as soon as they were outside. "She looked like she felt sorry for me."

"She probably thought I was friend zoning you, or something" Cara said, laughing slightly.

"What does that mean?" He said.

"It means I just completely killed any hopes of us ever having a romantic relationship. And she felt bad for you."

"Why? What's wrong with being friends?" Cara looked at him. He felt genuinely seemed baffled. She shrugged.

"Good question, and I don't know the answer," she said. He shook his head, falling silent. "Where to next?"

Now it was his turn to shrug.

"We can get stuff for dinner tonight?"

He nodded.

"Right. This way."

* * *

><p>Bucky was pushing the cart, as they walked through the small grocery store, leaning on the handle, while Cara walked in front of him, occasionally pulled something off the shelf and tossed it in. She glance back at him.<p>

"Is there anything you want?"

He shook his head. She rolled her eyes, turning back to the front, although she kept her hand firmly on the front of the cart.

She paused, glancing passed him. "There a someone watching us," she said, nodding behind him, "Do you know them?" He resist the urge to freeze where he stood, instead glancing casually behind him. A man, stereotypical in what he thought most agents looked like, black suit, nondescript face. He was clearly an amatuar though, staring right at them, not attempting to hide that he was observing them. Even Cara, with no experience, had seen it.

Bucky looked at Cara. She was nearly expressionless, as was usual, glancing between him and the man. He released the basket, stepping away, as if to distance himself from her.

"I'll be right back," he said quietly. "Stay here." She looked slightly anxious, as she took in his serious expression.

"Alright," she said. He turned back to the man, walking over confidently, who made no movement, to hide, or run, or fight. He just stood there. watching.

Bucky stared at him, feeling every bit of training come back. He felt himself stand taller, and straighter.

"Why are you looking at us?" He said. He felt himself slipping slightly into another accent, another voice. A hint of a Russian one. The man looked at him, tilting his head. The sunglasses kept him from being able to make out his face. The only clue was the slight movements he made.

"Do you know the story of the Firebird? It's Russian, though I don't suppose they ever let you read those."

"Who are you?"

"Well, in a rare retelling every night, a golden apple would be stolen to from a garden. And the king wanted to find out who it was who was stealing it. His son saw the bird, and told the king of it's beauty. The king was transfixed, and he sent his son, out into the world, and the prince found a Wolf. The Wolf, being a creature of winter, did not like the warmth, and lead him right to her."

His head tilted indicating he was glancing behind him.

"Her hair is quite the shade of red. Like flames, don't you think?"

Bucky shifted. "What do you want?"

"Oh, Winter Soldier. Is that how they taught you to get information? By simply asking and assuming I'll answer? Maybe you aren't as good as I thought."

"Retrieving information was never what I was best at.I will give you one more chance. Who are you, and what do you want with me?"

The man looked at him, face unreadable.

"Who says we are here for you, Soldier?"

Bucky fist tightened.

"Keep an close eye on your friend. She is not all that she seems, and if you don't, you might just... Well, you might just lose her."

The lights went out, plunging the small windowless store into darkness. The fire alarm began to flash, illuminating everything in brief sparks of light. Bucky swore, as he spun around, the words about Cara ringing in his ears, although he was hesitant to turn his back on the man, even for a moment. This all seemed to planned, too careful.

There was no one by the cart.

Cara was gone.

"Fox!" He yelled, spinning around to demand the man tell him where she was. But there either. It was like Agent had turned to smoke. He was alone in the aisle. Walking quickly forward, he looked around. There was no one in the store at all. His heart began to beat faster.

"Fox, where the fuck are you!"

"Bucky?" Her voice echoed.

"Cara!"

She was standing in the back, alone as well. He walked quickly to her side.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah... Just thought I saw something."

"I told you to stay there."

"I _thought _I saw _something_."

"What?"

"I don't know. Something."

"Cara, tell me what you saw."

"I don't know. I'm not sure."

He sighed, glancing store was empty. "We need to go. We need to go now."

"Alright," she said. He grabbed her arm, almost dragging her towards the exit, so that they wouldn't be separated from each other, if anything happened. As they stepped out into the sun, he glanced around, pulling his hat down, blocking his face. He walked quickly. They were a few blocks away from the apartment.

If he could get them there, he could figure this all out.

After a few minutes, Cara began asking questions

"Bucky, what's happening?"

"I just have a bad feeling about something.

"Bucky, I want answers."

"Please trust me, Cara. Please," he said, No one was following them. There was no sign of anything usual. The double doors of the apartment were only a few feet away. He pulled her sharply in.

She sighed, "Alright. Alright. But I want answers. Later."

"Okay."

The ride in the elevator was silent, as Bukcy thought about what he had to do. He had to make sure that apartment was secure, that no one was waiting for them. And then, he had to investigate what the man had said about Cara.

"She is not all that she seems."

Cara was a point of interest to others. And that could mean danger. He had to know every varible. He had to, or they would do something to her. Not just to get at him, but because she was special. Special people never lasted long.

And the memory of her hands on his made the idea of that almost painful.

As she opened the door, he cleared his throat.

"Thank you," he said. She looked at him, slightly surprised.

"For what?"

"For trusting me."

She blinked. "No problem."

"No. Most wouldn't. You have no reason to. I don't even have any reason to."

"Bucky. I trust you. I have good judgement. So, trust me on this one."

He was at a loss for words.

She put her hand on his arm. "Just... Not right now, but one day. Trust me."

She turned and left him standing there in the hallway, alone again. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the key she had given him.

_Trust me._

He sighed, and shut the door.

_Trust me. _

How could he trust anyone, ever?

_Trust me._

And why... Why did he want to so badly?

**A/N: **What is it with me and B-Sides from forever ago that will never be heard in stores. Like seriously, I started listening to My Chemical Romance again, and I've been going on writing sprees listening to all the songs. Man, I miss them.

In other news, I updated! *cheers*

And it's sort of long! *cheers again*

And I got to use my favorite trope of being mistaken for a couple heh heh heh.

Thank you everyone for reading, and welcome new readers! Heads up, it's finals week next week, so I'll be panicking. Last update for 2014, probably, so I'll say it now. Happy holidays everyone!


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